Mercy of Alexander
by Del Rion
Summary: When sent off to meet and negotiate with a foreign leader, Hephaistion soon realises that things are about to get very difficult – not only to his king, but to himself as well. Soon Alexander himself learns of the insult made against him – both as a man a
1. Story Info

** Story Info **

**Title:** Mercy of Alexander

**Author: ** Del Rion

**Fandom: ** Alexander (the Great)

**Genre: ** AU, Drama

**Rating: ** M / FRM

**Characters:** Alexander, Cassander, Hephaistion, Ptolemy (, OC).

**Pairing:** Alexander/Hephaistion

**Summary: ** When sent off to meet and negotiate with a foreign leader, Hephaistion soon realises that things are about to get very difficult – not only to his king, but to himself as well. Soon Alexander himself learns of the insult made against him – both as a man and as a king.  
Complete.

**Warnings: ** Slash, violence, death, rape.

**Beta:** Leonida (huge thanks for betaing this story – and for all the great reprimanding and schooling you have given me ;) I will be a lot better writer when I learn to please your eye!)

**Disclaimer: ** None of the characters or places belong to me, but to the history and Intermedia Films.

**Feedback: ** Yes, please, be so kind (if you think I am begging… you are absolutely right!). Please and thank you, review: I would love to know your opinion/judgement/whatever you prefer to give me.

**Author's Notes: ** English is not my mother tongue, so it isn't perfect. I am a human, too, so that might cause some more mistakes…

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**About Mercy of Alexander:** This never happened. Or well, if it did, I do not know about it… But there is still a lot I do not know about the life of Alexander! AU-marking is there only because I do not know if this could have even possibly happened. So better to be careful with these things ;)

This story, basically, is one of those (again) that are formed while I am walking my dog. It has been there about a month or so, and now I think it is bout a time to write it. Think what you like!

Both the city of Rhadia and its lord, Mazaces, are my imagination! Nothing to do with the reality!

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**Chapters and their status: ** Here below you see the writing process of the story's chapters. If there is no text after the chapter's name, then it is finished and checked (until someone of my dear readers points me out some mistake, or I will do some updating…) so, check this page, because here I will mark the dates of the updates…

**Chapter 1: Assembling Plans**  
**Chapter 2: Negotiation**  
**Chapter 3: A Macedonian**  
**Chapter 4: Bow before your King**  
**Chapter 5: Trial and Mercy**


	2. Chapter 1: Assembling Plans

**Chapter 1: Assembling Plans

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**

Alexander leaned over a wide table, large map rolled open before him. Brown eyes searched the details marked on the chart, frown deeply set on the golden forehead. It was obvious the king was deep in thought. Silence filled the inside of the tent, only sounds drifting from the outside world, hushed and ignored.

Behind the king, sprawled on a divan, lay another man, gaze focused on a letter in his hands. Dark brown hair came down over his shoulders; bright, intelligent blue eyes absorbing every bit of information from the parchment. His left hand kept tracing his lips in a thoughtful manner, mind trying to search hidden meanings between the lines. Hephaistion had read the message numerous times already, and would do so until he knew _all_ it had to say.

Alexander let his breath out harshly – a subtle signal Hephaistion had been waiting for. Slowly getting up from his place, he walked to his king, halting beside the great table. Theystared at the map, in silence. The distance between their bodies was nonexistent. When Alexander shifted, his shoulder brushed against Hephaistion's, making him froze for a moment. Hephaistion did not move either, chewing his lower lip in thought. "Have you reached a decision?" he finally asked, voice smooth.

"I know what to do," Alexander responded, sounding anything but a king counselling his general. Here, alone, they were friends – equals. That was how Alexander had said he alwayswanted it to be. "The city is to far away from our route: I cannot take my whole army there." Hephaistion nodded, knowing this himself. "Yet I need to get it under my control," the young king of Asia went on. "With the leader of the city, willing to submit before me, this should not take long."

"You have a plan," Hephaistion smiled, dropping the letter to the table, his eyes turning to Alexander.

"I will send a small troop there, to negotiate. As no battle or resistance is expected, less than thousand men should do."

"And who is to negotiate with this foreign leader?"

Alexander turned fully to his companion. "The best I have: a man I can trust to make swift work with the negotiations, so he may join my main force again." Hephaistion lifted an eyebrow, waiting the name to be announced. Alexander liked this far too much, holding back information before spilling it. "I shall send you," the king said with a resolute look.

Hephaistion shifted, crossing arms over his chest. "Are you sure your plan is… one of wisdom?" he asked carefully.

Alexander, as Hephaistion had expected, assumed a wounded expression. "It is completely reasonable decision: you are the one of my generals that I can trust with such mission. You have the gift of words and an intelligent mind, and it will not take you long to return at my side again."

Hephaistion made a small move with his head, a sign of approval. He knew what he was capable of, as did Alexander. Hephaistion was a competent warrior, skilled with both spear and sword – indeed, he was the only man to have wrestled Alexander himself to the ground. But if he was a sufficient soldier, his true calling was in the arena of politics, the verbal cut and riposte far more appealing to him than the bloody stench of the battlefield.

"Are you going to inform the other Generals of your plan?" Hephaistion asked as Alexander rolled up the map.

"They would see the matter as I do," the king replied, taking his leave from the tent, Hephaistion on his heels.

"I think you still should –" Hephaistion began, then lifted his voice in greeting: "Ptolemy! A good day to you, my friend."

Ptolemy, who was walking across the empty areabetween the rows of tents, halted and waved in greeting as the two men reached him. "Alexander, Hephaistion," he addressed them, a frown suddenly darkening his features. "Is something about to happen?"

Hephaistion smirked at Alexander. "I knew this was coming." As Ptolemy looked none the wiser, Hephaistion turned to him. "Alexander has decided to send me off to negotiate with the lord of Rhadia, a city somewhat outside our course."

Ptolemy nodded. "I heard of this letter. Was it not a plain peace-offering, the lord promising to join us without a fight?"

"Yes, though in many more, gorgeous words," Alexander snorted.

Ptolemy expressed his acceptance yet again. "Then I agree with my king: you are the best option to be send forth. He is not going alone, is he?" he questioned Alexander.

"Of course not," Alexander almost barked. "Athousand men should be enough, if any of the enemy tribes might get an idea to attack him on the way."

Ptolemy pursed his lips, probably already pitying anyone who would dare to approach Hephaistion's company: Alexander's infamous, short temper, added to the fear for his dearest friend… Many might not have understood it, but whereas most romantic relationships between youths ended when reaching adulthood, Alexander made an exception. Hephaistion still had a special place in his heart and that would not be swayed by none – not even death.

"Do you wish to consult the Friends of this move?" Ptolemy asked casually.

"A short meeting has to do," Alexander decided. "I wish too see Hephaistion off as soon as possible."

_So he can reunite us again_, Ptolemy added to himself with a secret smile. They all would sleep their nights more peacefully when they knew Hephaistion was there to soothe Alexander on his most flaming moods. It was a task given to no other – for several reasons. For one: none desired to end up beheaded, and two: it was must more efficient to allow Hephaistion to take care of their king – it saved both time and effort._ I will send an extra prayer to the gods tonight_, Ptolemy decided as they set off to find the other commanders.

* * *

Hephaistion mounted his horse, shifting on the animal's back before riding to meet the king. The meeting with other generals had been rather swift an uneventful: all had agreed with Alexander. It was to be expected, of course, as Hephaistion was more than fit for the task.

Halting before Alexander, the auburn-haired general saluted his lord. Alexander returned the greeting, stepping forth with a flag in his hand. Hephaistion took the itwithout hesitation. He would present himself to this foreign lord, carrying Alexander's sign. Any man in the army would have died for the honour of doing so. To Hephaistion, it was a task to be done with care and devotion, knowing what most men believed: he too was Alexander. Words said by the king, back at Babylon, would not vanish in the sands of history. They would live on, and Hephaistion was about to act worthily of them.

"May gods bring you back swiftly," Alexander murmured, his hand pressed against the side of Hephaistion's mount, close to his thigh.

"I will try to make haste," Hephaistion smiled secretly. The other man's fingertips brushed against the skin of his leg, reminding him why exactly Alexander wished him to return as soon as possible. Neither of them liked to be apart longer than necessary, even if their relationship was not as intimate as when they had been youths. Still there were certain comforts they could give to each other, and which no other could ever replace. "I shall bring with me as many new men as possible."

Alexander absently licked his lips. "I shall move on as I planned. If any changes occur, I shall send word to you immediately."

Hephaistion nodded, then sat up straight, saluting his lord for the final time. Raising Alexander's flag above his head, he signalled his troops to move forth. It would take four days to reach this city, Rhadia, and swifter they were on their way, the quicker he could return to Alexander with fresh men and supplies.

_to be continued…_


	3. Chapter 2: Negotiation

**Author's Note:** I am sorry this chapter took long time in coming! Blame the Real Life being too possessive of my time. But here it is, chapter 2! More action for you people to devour. I hope this shall be a good read (remember to leave me a note of what you think ;).

And, naturally, mighty thanks to my beta, Leonida! (When you find a phrase in the text that surpasses the rest in quality and beauty: that is her doing :) I am just shamelessly using some lines she gave me...).

**

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Chapter 2: Negotiation

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**

Stone walls rose from the sand before them. At first, it had been impossible to discern where the featureless desert ended and the city , as he rode closer, Hephaistion was able make out the lines of the battlements, towers rising to reach for the sky beyond.

Rhadia was a fortress. Thick, high walls, powerful gate…Hephaistion had seen many such places before, every time with a same result: a defeated city yielding to Alexander after a fruitless battle. _Yet for once, there shall be no battle, no long, pointless siege._ He was in good moods, to be honest. If all went well, he would be back at Alexander's side within a week.

The army halted before the gates, forming precise lines as they were trained to. Commanders approached their general, ready for further orders. "I will enter the city with two phalanxes of men, and one third of the cavalry," Hephaistion spoke. "The rest of the army shall wait outside the walls." This was not the best move, tactically, but he had very little choice the city was small, and bringing his entire force within the walls would have been unwise. His men were great enough in number to take care of any problem that might occur.

The commanders nodded, dividing to carry outtheir orders. Alone Hephaistion sat mounted in the head of the army, his eyes yet again scanning the city before them. What awaited within these walls? He would find out soon enough.

* * *

Hephaistion stood in a wide hall, surrounded by pillars that hid the rest of the space into shadows. He could sense people standing there, feel their dark eyes staring at him and his companions, whispers echoing in the silence. The noise of the city was distant now, a constant far-away humming.

Fingers around the shaft of the flag flexed unconsciously. Suppressing a groan of frustration, he kept his expression neutral. He knew when he was being toyed with – and this certainly was one of those times. All he could possibly do right now was to wait, not to show his irritation, and get his task delivered so he could return to his own.

Their wait had turned into matter of hours. A servant that had escorted them through the city was now longgone, after telling them to wait in the throne room. He had said the lord of their city would be with them soon. So far, there was not a slightest of sign that such a thing would occur.

The honour guard of dozen Macedonian men was shifting more than previously. All of them kept their silence, following their leader's example, but Hephaistion could feel their ire rising. A young interpreter beside him tried to copy his calm appearance, but betrayed it by fondling the material of his clothes constantly. Besides that, the nervous eyes kept darting from shadows to the visible entrances, speaking volumes.

Hephaistion returned his gazeto the grandiose throne before him. His mind turned inwards, he did not actually see the rich decoration, which he had been eyeing up for too long already. Longer he waited, more assured he grew of the fact that the meeting would be far from pleasant. The lord of the city – perhaps not a king, but the highest authority nonetheless – was no doubt was no doubt taking every last ounce of pleasure he could from making them wait. Men such as that never stopped annoying Hephaistion.

_Take it easy_, he reminded himself harshly, making sure he allowed no sign of his thoughts slip through the mask of serenity he wore. _Let them play all they like: they shall realise their loss, sooner than later. I have not spent my life among the greatest leaders and teachers of the Greek world for nothing… Yet the report I shall deliver to Alexander shall not be the most pleasant one!_

A moment of silence followed the heated debate inside Hephaistion's head. The voices from the shadows were suddenly hushed, as if waiting for something to happen at any moment. His own senses alert, Hephaistion drew to his full height, shifting the flag in his hand. _Willing or not, Alexander shall have his city_, he promised to himself as the heavy curtains behind the throne moved aside.

The high lord of Rhadia made his way to the throne. Expensive and rich garments fluttered as Mazaces – a name Hephaistion has already learned to dislike – halted on the edge of the dais, his eyes directed at Hephaistion. His appearance spoke of little but haughtiness and pride, his eye cold and scornful.

To his contradictory pleasure, Hephaistion had to accept the truth that the mission he had been send to perform was going to prove to be more difficult than he – or Alexander – had expected. _Yet I was chosen for a reason, and it is simple: I _can_ do this._ Before he was able to speak, however, Mazaces made his first move.

Lifting his hands up dramatically on his sides, the lord of Rhadia bellowed with low, booming voice: "Ah, great Alexander's hordes have finally arrived!" His Greek was terribly pronounced and accented, but Hephaistion understood the meaning behind the words themselves. Still he refused to show any kind of ill reaction, standing his ground, maintaining his calm, passive mask.

Noticing his guest was not offended by the statement, Mazaces seemed to drop all the pretence of a friendly meeting. He lifted his voice again, speaking with his own language, making the court laugh. People had edged closer to the centre of the hall, lingering among the pillars, curious yet afraid to approach the Macedonians fully.

The soldiers behind him shifted nervously, and Hephaistion glanced at the interpreter, waiting the younger man to inform him of the earlier words. All he met was a pale complexion and a fearful look. When he opened his mouth to question for a translation verbally, the interpreter shook his head frantically. Hephaistion frowned, a first visible signal given by him during the short meeting, and turned to look at the smug face of Mazaces before him. The man was more than likely aware of the fact that Hephaistion was ignorant of his earlier words, and that merely lifted his self-esteem before the Macedonian general.

Pushing aside the unpleasant feeling in the back of his mind, Hephaistion met the other man's gazecalmly, representing himself and his reason of being here. Alexander's flag spoke volumesof on whose behalf he was standing here, yet for once it had not the same effect on people as usually. Yet it gave him enough self-assurance to go on, despite the loathing looks cast at him. "You spoke earlier of your willingness to surrender to king Alexander without resistance," he paused, allowing the words to be translated by the rather shaky man beside him. He was about to continue, but Mazaces' expression stopped him from doing so. _Well, my point is made. I hope he does not wish to make a fool of himself._

"'Surrender?' _Surrender?_" Mazaces repeated, his face turning highly amused. He let out a sound between a laugh and a shout, then said something else, again with his own language.

This time Hephaistion gave the interpreter no chance to cower from his task: his eyes boring at the young man were enough to make him stutter out the words. "He said… The lord of Rhadia spoke that… He merely said he would not cause Alex- _king_ Alexander," the boy corrected, seemingly to himself, "no harm. But if Alexander shall come and cross his lands, he shall be treated as an enemy." He did not correct the informal way of speaking on the second time, too hasty to get the words out of his mouth.

Hephaistion drew very still. His eyes turned hard as the ice on the mountains, his breathing even and tightly controlled. There was not a single moment he did not understand what Mazaces' words meant; and the lord, too, knew this.

The air seemed to freeze between them, both sides holding their breaths in dread. Hephaistion's eyes shifted, their colour seeming to absorb darker shade from the shadows of the hall. He did not move a muscle, yet his gaze was enough to make Mazaces shift uncomfortably. It must have also been the moment, when the lord of Rhadia truly realised that the handsome man before him was more than good looks and strikingly blue eyes. _Let him wonder_, Hephaistion thought bitterly. _He will soon regret his words, way or another. I am not going to stand idle while my king is being insulted – however subtly!_ Yet he knew his own situation was not the brightest possible: they were far inside the city, surrounded with enemy warriors. Their main-force stood outside the gates, and the cavalry was far outside the palace. To put it mildly, they were trapped. _The only straw I have is that Mazaces is not fool enough to attack us. For sure he knows that Alexander's answer would be swift to come, and not lightly delivered…_

Mazaces was the first to make his move. His hand moved to a sword hanging on his side, the movement slow, almost cautious. He took a step towards Hephaistion, drawing his weapon, three stairs and two feet separating them quickly turning into nothing.

Hephaistion stood his ground, yet his heart sped up its speed. Surely the man would not _dare_ to harm him! A negotiator of a foreign ruler…

The sword moved, cutting through the air swiftly. The impact, when the blade collided with its target, made Hephaistion blink. The red-and-golden flag of Alexander fell to the floor, cut in half just two inches above the hand holding it upright. The men of honour guard moved behind the Macedonian leader, but the local soldiers were already on the move. Hephaistion did not have to turn and look to confirm his companions were restrained with force besides their efforts to fight back. _So was this your plan all along, Mazaces? If Alexander actually came here to claim what is his, you would invite him to a snake's nest and make sure there was no way out?_ Hephaistion met the lord's eyes when a sharp tip of the blade settled to the skin of his throat.

Mazaces was visibly unhappy as Hephaistion refused to show no sign of fear or surprise. He turned his face towards the now completely terrified interpreter, slowly speaking. His voice was low, dark and ominous, promise of something Hephaistion did not wish to think and linger on. When the lord of Rhadia was finished, he kept staring at the young man until his words were translated.

"He said…" the boy sniffed, his eyes wide with growing panic, trying to bring his mind into enough focus to deliver the message to his lord. Hephaistion's encouraging look helped him to go on, and he swallowed, drawing a deep breath before continuing again. "'You walk into the city like an oppressor you are. But as easily as the flag of your _king_'," this word had been spat in disgust, Hephaistion guessed, "'is cut down, I can slit your throat: for in my eyes you are an enemy. A foreigner coming to our land, thinking we shall submit like frightened sheep. You shall soon see how wrong you were.'" The interpreter shivered, eyeing the Rhadian soldiers in fear, knowing they would all die at any moment.

_This man is either beyond reason, or then a fool enough to not see he is bringing his own death upon himself_, Hephaistion thought. _If I was to die… Alexander shall never forgive such a crime._ He tried not to go on with the thought, all too well knowing what the news of his death would fingers clutched the broken shaft in his hand. _'If you were to die, Hephaistion, even if Macedonia was to lose a king, I would avenge you, and follow you down to the House of Death.'_ The words had been spoken a long time ago, before Alexander became the king of Asia, yet Hephaistion knew their meaning had not vanished; most of all, he feared for an opposite."I shall warn you only once: surrender, or you will feel the full power of Alexander's army."

The manner which Hephaistion spoke his king's name with made the other man narrow his eyes, his sword shifting slightly on the bared throat, drawing blood. It must have aroused a suspicion in Mazaces' mind. Hephaistion cursed his lack of concentration, and wished this lapse would fall on his own benefit. If not, he hoped Alexander had enough sense in his royal head to keep from doing anything stupid.

"I can make you a slave with a less than a word," Mazaces replied, this time in Greek.

"Back off," Hephaistion ground out, "or you will regret. And I do not tend to give empty threats."

Mazaces looked as if he was thinking of this, but his eyes betrayed the expression: his mind was far decided where it concerned Hephaistion's fate. Then he turned to his soldiers, giving them orders with a steady voice. Then he turned his attention back to the Macedonian, grinning predatorily.

"My lord!" the interpreter shrieked in terror while two foreign soldiers grabbed him by the shoulders. "He is going to kill the men within the walls, close the gates! And –" A blade flashed quicker than the sentence was ended. Blood stained Hephaistion's face, his eyes following as the young man fell to the floor, his head barely hanging from his shoulders.

A wet touch of steel on his neck brought the general's attention back from the dead interpreter: he hadn't even realised the sword had been removed. Warm blood flowed down the smooth surface, staining the front of Hephaistion's clothing. Mazaces resumed his earlier grin, probably amused by the increasing fire of wrath that surfaced in the blue eyes.

"I think we understand each other perfectly enough without him," the lord pointed out, not bothering to glance at the dead man whose blood stained their feet. "I wish that the rats in our dungeons are enough company for you until I have finished with the rest of the filth you brought into my city." His words were still a bit unclear, but Hephaistion had spent enough time among people who knew little Greek to catch the point. Mazaces nodded at a group of soldiers standing nearby, and removed his blade when Hephaistion was effectively restrained.

Hephaistion gave a worthy fight, knowing it was his last chance to show a sign of resistance. The men cursed his attempts, words foreign to him, and finally the struggle was ended with a handle of a sword colliding with the back of his head. World turned blurry, his mind barely making out the sounds of a battle from the hall they had just left. _Alexander's men fight to the end_, he thought, trying to get free, to find death in the glory of a battle, to die Alexander's name on his lips.

Another strike to Hephaistion's head sent him down to darkness, just as the last Macedonian shout echoed on the stonewalls.

_to be continued…_


	4. Chapter 3: A Macedonian

**Author's Note:** Once again, you are to be warned: this chapter contains _rape _(plus some violence)! Nothing nice in any of it, so if you do not like it, either skip this part, or read until we reach the dangerous ground, and then hop on (though I think the ones who do not wish to read such things have already left this story a long time ago). To the others, "enjoy"!

Plus, see a wonderful fan-picture made by **Youn-Hee**: i198(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/aa49/Del_Rion/Fan%20fiction%20pics/Alexander%20the%20Great%20fiction/-Hee(dot)jpg

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**Chapter 3: A Macedonian**

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The cold stone felt damp against his skin. Yet leaning his weight against it made the shackles around his wrists ease their pressure, and he rather saved his hands for later use – in his mind he was still going to escape, sooner than later. Shifting his weight yet again, trying to ignore the blood already coating the broken skin where the metal kept biting to his hands, Hephaistion leaned his forehead heavily to the wall. Grinding his skull against the rough surface was not the brightest of ideas, but in his rising desperation, driving the terror aside with the slightest of pain was only helpful.

_You shall get your share of the pain soon enough_, he promised to himself, again listening to the sounds of the deep underground dungeons. The air stank of anguish, death, and other less glorious things he had only witnessed on battlefield before. No doubt, there was something – or someone – rotting in the cell next to his. Or maybe the smell came from the same room, after all. He could not be sure in the darkness.

_Bodies… You have seen those before, so pull yourself together!_ He tried controlling himself again, resisting the urge to speak aloud, even if only to himself. He knew that silence would not be his only witness. _Keep this up and you shall end in one of those dark, slimy corners, cold as the bronze statues of –_

Bumping his head against the hard stone, Hephaistion clenched his fists. His arms were slowly getting numb, the tingling sensation making him more annoyed. Shifting again, he pressed his forehead to the wall until he felt the skin break. His own blood felt odd, trickling down his face, making the already damp skin feel sticky and wet. He shuddered involuntarily, drawing his head away from the wall. A myriad of emotions rose within him; he was accomplishing nothing here...

The door of his prison was suddenly pulled open, the violent force making air rush against Hephaistion's naked skin. He froze, eyes unfocused as his senses fought to identify every sound of movement behind him. People were entering the room, the light of torches making Hephaistion squint his eyes.

Someone moved towards him, a rich smell filling his nostrils. He tensed, painfully so, as every arching movement put more pressure on his wrists. Still Hephaistion made no sound, gave no clear outer signal he was reacting at all.

Mazaces probably didn't even notice. The man was so full of himself that it made Hephaistion almost physically sick.

"Strong, proud general of the great Alexander… in no better position than a lowly slave," Mazaces' voice was barely above a whisper, as if spoken only to Hephaistion. He had either taken some lessons in Greek since their last meeting, or spend the last hours learning what he was now saying. "I though it might please you to get some information of your men's fates," the lord continued, leaning closer to his prisoner's body almost like a fellow conspirator. "After… _subduing_ your royal guard, the city gates were closed, and every each of your men within my walls was killed. Now the rest of your army waits outside, like a pack of frightened sheep. It seems that they are completely useless without a leader…"

Hephaistion knew that was not the case, but he had no intentions informing Mazaces about it. As they spoke, messengers must be returning to the main force of Alexander's army, to inform their king the events had turned against their favour. It was a matter of time before the king himself would arrive. _The only question is if I am still alive when he arrives_, Hephaistion thought grimly, refusing to both answer the lord of the city or to look at him; he had suffered the other in the line of his vision long enough.

He could hear Mazaces grind his jaws together in frustration. Surely the other man did not expect him to whimper in fear and beg for his life? Perhaps so, but Hephaistion would never become _that_ desperate – only before Alexander he would bow, and that came out of love, not fear.

Seconds passed.

Hephaistion refused to react.

Mazaces declined to humble himself to initiate the next move.

Other people shifted in the gloom, muttered words breaking the tense silence.

Finally, Mazaces seemed to grow tired of the game. He was a type of man who had not used to insubordination, and always got what he wanted. Always. It was only a matter of time – and how much pain he had to inflict on the disobeying person. And what he wanted from Hephaistion, at the moment, was complete surrender.

Hephaistion knew his situation was getting more perilous. His sight limited, body tied in an awkward angle… He had little leverage, and it made him feel more vulnerable. He had no choice but to hang there, and await what his captors would do.

There was a violent tensing thorough Hephaistion's body when fingers suddenly touched his back. He had tried to keep still, stay calm, not to give any outer signals of his fears, but… He had expected nothing but pain from his enemies. Now a leather-covered hand petted his backside, in an almost gentle caress. Closing his eyes resolutely, Hephaistion fought for control, forcing his body to relax. _Whatever the means, I shall not break…_

Mazaces chuckled beside him, yet there was something else than amusement in his voice. The lord shifted closer, breaking Hephaistion's attempts to gather his raging thoughts. "So fair…" the man murmured, his touches continuing with more force and pressure. Yet Hephaistion did not mistake his words, for a single moment, to a compliment. "Such beauty must know how to _achieve_ all his goals," Mazaces went on, his breath caressing Hephaistion's ear, making him pull his head aside to avoid the contact.

Hephaistion could feel the other smile: to his reaction or to the mere thought of what was to come. And well did Hephaistion know what was going to happen to him. There was no doubt anymore. _No reason to act surprised_, he thought dryly. He did jerk away, however, when a hand crept down to fondle his genitals. The alien touch infuriated him, the other scent all too clear beside him. Only one living man on earth was allowed to touch him such, and he was not Mazaces.

He struggled with impotent fury, heedless to the fact he was tied up like a piece of dead meat. He only wished to get distance between himself and the filthy creature who called himself "lord" – and maybe get a good hit delivered in addition. But with his arms already numb, feet barely touching the ground, Hephaistion could do little but squirm, not even close of pushing the other man off from him.

One of the soldiers close to the door laughed, commenting something with their own, foreign language. Mazaces' grip tightened, forcing Hephaistion to still his desperate fight. "Do you like this?" the lord asked, perhaps voicing what his men had said. This made Hephaistion drop his attempt of a fight momentarily, his mind trying to come up with a sufficient answer. Mazaces' other hand was by now reaching his lower backside, groping like a buyer on the slave-markets. Yet in here, no money was to be traded, no purchase delivered. "Dirty Greek dog," Mazaces finally spat, probably realising Hephaistion was not, after all, going to defend himself, even with words – which would have been futile, of course. "No man respecting himself should mount something like you." With that, the lord of Rhadia pushed back, as if in disgust.

Hephaistion couldn't have cared less if the man actually loathed to touch him or not – as long as he kept his distance, Hephaistion was content. There were orders delivered behind him, spoken with words he could not understand. Hephaistion did not need to comprehend, either. He knew well enough what was to come. Embracing his final moment of peace – and perhaps that among the living – Hephaistion send a quick prayer to the Gods. To his surprise, he named Phobos, whom Alexander had prayed the night before their battle at Gaugamela. Yet soon he would battle "fear" like never before. And for the love of Alexander, his Alexander, he would win! He would die without giving his enemies the pleasure he had seen on a hundred faces of other prisoners in his past. He would not break.

Men moved about. He was not sure if Mazaces was there or not. It didn't matter. The man, worthless in his eyes, could go to hell if it pleased him. Hephaistion was about to forget him. If this indeed was his last moment among the living, he would be rather thinking of other places – other people.

Hephaistion recognized the crack of a whip being tested behind him. Soon he would feel it far more intimately. Taking a deep breath, as if preparing to some kind of a trial, he spoke out, loud and clear: "Macedonian. I am a _Macedonian_." He knew it did not matter to those men; but it mattered to him. He would not die as a "Greek dog", begging for mercy. Even death beheld glory, and for once, he prayed Alexander's promises were indeed true…

The sound the whip made was loud in his ears. When the weapon connected with his back, he drew breath harshly, yet refused to make a sound. He had been beaten before, several times, and been wounded in battle more often he could count. Yet he had never been whipped. He had seen men treated thus, seen their skin rip and bleed, heard their screams of agony and swears against their tormentors.

The feel of his own skin breaking, almost hearing the cruel whip digging to his flesh made Hephaistion acutely aware of his situation. He had used the method before, when in a great amount of pain: to look inside, to block out the necessary urges of your body. It was as if you left your own body, and observed it from the outside.

When the pain rose like a wall of red light before him, Hephaistion found himself unable to think any longer. The essence of his life ran down his back and shoulders, trickling down his legs. The air smelled of sweat and blood.

After what seemed like hours, the whip no longer rose for another strike. Allowing his head fall forward, Hephaistion panted for air. He could no longer feel his arms. His mind could not work the overload of senses, pain exceeding everything – coherent thoughts, orders given to his body… He was a dead weight hanging there, waiting for the next act of his tormentors.

He did not have to wait for long.

People moved within the cell, a hand suddenly yanking his head back. Cold water was thrown down over his body, washing away blood and pieces of flesh. Its purpose was by no means to clean him, but to wake him up. Yet Hephaistion said nothing, made no sound. If this was his fate, he was going to see it through with dignity and strength of mind Alexander could be proud of. _Alexander…_ The thought of his king made his ache, yearn for freedom. He wanted to live and see how far his friend could walk the road before him – how far the others would follow him. _Because when all the others fail and leave him, I would follow! To the end of the world, and beyond._

Yet that was not bound to happen, and Hephaistion felt a torrent of emotions wash over him, more effective than the water had been. Feel of anger, betrayal, failure… He was alone. For the first time in his life, he knew Alexander was not going to come for him. Part of him was glad. A greater part, however, cried out in agony, not willing to die alone, apart from the soul he had loved since he was only a boy. That part longed to hold his beloved close, tell him he had never ceased loving him, through all these years. Tell Alexander he was going to wait for him…

A naked body pushed against his, painful grip bruising the slick skin of his hips. Hephaistion tensed. Hands skimmed over his thighs, trying to urge them apart: when no access was freely given, they were forced. His breath caught in his throat when a firm flesh pushed against him. It held no passion towards him, but rather to the pain it was going to cause him.

Men laughed, more hands touching the bloody, wet skin. Their words were mocking, yet Hephaistion could not understand; but he caught the meaning, as he was meant to. Still he made no sound. He did not move, either, his body remaining tense as a bowstring before the arrow set upon it was launched as a messenger of death…

A violent push from a man behind him made a hot pain flare inside Hephaistion's lower body. The agony that had only remained outside, was now reaching inside. Like flames, devouring him a layer after layer… The man grunted, the sound making Hephaistion sick. He closed his eyes, not sure when he had opened them, trying to block out everything – outside and within.

This time it lasted for hours, Hephaistion was certain of it. He lost count of the times his enemies violated his body, his mind drifting from some dark place to the world of living again. At times, water was splashed on him, or a slap to his face bringing him to full awareness. As much as he tried, he could not escape the room, the smell, the sounds. Still he remained silent.

The men finally left, Hephaistion noted to himself, his mind slowly fighting its way through a blurry mist. He was still facing the wall, his skin scraped and bleeding where it had rubbed against the stone. A cool breeze of air made his skin sting and turn into goose bumps. Shifting slightly, he tried to lessen the gnawing pain, and ease the muscles that were beginning to cramp due his position and dehydration.

A male voice suddenly spoke up behind Hephaistion, making him halt his every movement. Holding his breath, the Macedonian listened as several people walked closer to him. Many spoke with tones he couldn't quite place; hands touched him again. One small glance told him these men were different from those who had just left the room. And these men were here to continue from where their friends had finished.

Hands grabbed Hephaistion's body, holding him still. The shackles were opened to his dismay, the men releasing him and allowing him to slide to the sticky floor. It didn't really matter if he was free, to be honest: he had no strength left to hold himself up, much less to escape, or attempt a fight.

Strong, rough hands grabbed his hips, elevating them from the stones. Another man kneeled before him, fingers fisting to his hair, forcing his head up. Hephaistion's body screamed in pain he fought not to voice when the man behind him mounted him, the smell of blood overpowering all other scents in the air. Life returned to his arms, making them tingle, then ache. Sweat and blood and dirt clung to his skin, his back protesting of the harsh treatment with every forced move.

Hephaistion bit his lip, trying to gather the remnants of his adamant will. He would not break. He could not. He would make Alexander proud! "Alexander…" The whisper escaped him before he could stop it. The man pushing into him pressed his head to the ground, shaking with his release. Other men laughed around them, making comments to each other, some reaching out to touch his skin. The man still kneeling before him petted his hair, almost fondly. Another man moved to replace his mate, sending a violent shiver through Hephaistion's entire form.

He would not break.

But it did not mean he couldn't pray.

The next time he called out Alexander's name, it was a broken gasp. A fervent call not to be answered. If the men heard him, they did not understand. Or then they simply did not care. The gasps turned to whimpers, sometimes lowered to a silent murmur. Not once did he scream; not for mercy – not his lover's name. Yet Alexander's name passed his lips until it came all he could think of. It became the pain, the darkness, the reason.

Nothing else no longer mattered.

_to be continued…_

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Here it was, for now. Quicker update than I thought, actually (thank Youn-Hee for being a pain in the ass and making me go on despite my plans – and of course thanks to all others who have told me to keep going!).

Frankly, I think this is one of the best chapters ever written by me. Got more poetic in the end than I intended, but other option was to risk the limits of the rating… I would love to know your opinion, as well – so review, people!

And naturally I thank all the reviewers and readers! You are such an encouragement, and keep me doing this faster and with more devotion than I otherwise would. Each line you write to me is cherished and carefully noted.

In the next chapter, we shall finally see Alexander's reaction to all this! I doubt it shall disappoint any of us – at least I wish so. It is time for Mazaces to learn the magnitude of his actions…


	5. Chapter 4: Bow before your King

**Chapter 4: Bow before your King

* * *

**

Dusk would fall in a matter of hours. The Western Sky was already showing familiar shades of approaching sunset, but there would be still plenty of time before the light would vanish behind the horizon. Approaching the main camp of Alexander from the north, their shadows cast long on their side, a group of riders galloped their way over the terrain, heedless for the need to rest.

They rushed into the camp, ignoring the central guards who shouted for them to halt. Trusting they would be identified as fellow soldiers, the riders made their way toward the centre of the wide camp, and their destination.

Reaching the tent where Alexander held a meeting with his generals, the small cavalry troop halted and dismounted. Before most of the men had touched the ground with their feet, the leader of the group was making his way towards the shelter he knew his king was occupying at the moment.

Inside the tent, the leisurely discussion of future tactics halted when the commotion outside seemed to change. Alexander frowned, looking away from his companions, trying to catch a glimpse of the world beyond the brown fabric. Soldiers standing in the doorway shifted nervously, and it was not hard to guess someone was approaching – someone in a hurry, yet unexpected by the men watching the entrance.

"Halt!" one of the guards shouted.

"I demand to meet king Alexander at once," another voice spoke. "My news is of extreme importance –"

"The king is holding a meeting with the Companions" the guard answered gruffly. "You must wait."

There was a short pause, then the arrival's voice rang out, lower yet far more threatening. It had a shivering undertone, which made Alexander take a step closer in both dread and curiosity. It did not take long, however, before he was already advancing the entrance with all his speed. "I have a message which Alexander has to hear immediately. Let me pass, or I swear you wish you had when the king's wrath reaches you for holding me idle and waiting," the arrival said. "For the king does not take well being forced to wait for information as vital as this – especially when it has anything to do with lord Hephaistion…"

The cavalry commander had barely finished when Alexander reached the doorway. He did not bother to scold the guard, so frightened the man was when he jumped aside from his lord's way. "What of Hephaistion?" Alexander demanded. "What news do you carry?" Of the man's earlier choice of words, aside his tone and looks, Alexander could tell the news was grim. Dread rose within him, his heart beating harshly against his ribs.

The troop commander bowed, but knew that was all of the formalities anyone wished to see at the moment. A shadow cast over his face – one that hadn't passed since he had left the walls of Rhadia behind – seemed to darken. "There is no actual message from Hephaistion, my liege…" the man hesitated either unsure how to break his news or more likely what his tidings would provoke.

"Speak," Alexander commanded, his eyes solely on the man before him. He knew people were gathering around them, generals drawing near to hear the words. He paid no attention to this, his need to hear of his friend too powerful.

"As planned, lord Hephaistion approached the lord of Rhadia. He took part of the army with him to the city, leaving the rest of us to wait and rest. Only few hours later, the gates of the city were closed…" He swallowed, taking a deep breath. "Of what we heard from the local warriors, our men within the city was killed. They emphasised the point by throwing bodies over the walls." A wary look was directed at Alexander's face. "There is no absolute proof, but we were told the members of the escort with lord Hephaistion were killed, and the general himself taken captive…"

No one dared to look Alexander in the eye at that moment. The mere sight of him was enough to make many take a step back – anyone who valued one's life. Silence filled the entire camp, yet the news spread out quicker then the desert wind.

Alexander's eyes were distant; his face pale and strained. He did not mutter anything akin to "how dare he?". Seemingly, the lord of Rhadia _had_ dared – to doubt that fact was out of question. Alexander said nothing for a moment; he did not move, did not breathe, his mind going over and over the letter that even now lay on his desk in his own tent. Hephaistion, too, had read the parchment. Neither of them had suspected the man actually be bold enough to defy Alexander's power. Now the worst possible scenario had taken place, and the young king could only deal with the aftermath. _No, not the _worst_ You cannot know that yet_, he told himself. The worst possibility was that Hephaistion was dead. His strong, beautiful friend, who had never questioned his plans – other than when needed, and Alexander himself did not find the will in himself to do that. However stupid and arrogant the foreign lord might be, he couldn't be dim-witted enough to kill the representative of Alexander. And in the case he was…

Alexander ground his jaws together and counted to five – a habit both his mentors and Hephaistion had tried to teach him to use when his temper was about to flare. Not that he usually had to use the method: Hephaistion was usually there, by his side, to calm him with his mere presence. Adamant to restore his friend to his rightful place, Alexander nodded at the cavalry commander who was still standing before him. The man no doubt was prepared to instant death, for delivering the news, and seemed bewildered when he was wordlessly dismissed. Turning to his Companions, Alexander buried the anger roaring in him for a later use. "Prepare the army to move out. The _entire_ army. Call for the nearest groups and tell them to join us as soon as possible."

"Alexander…" Ptolemy began, receiving a stare so cold and hot at the same time it made the man halt for a moment. "The night is approaching. We cannot make far in the darkness, you know this," he stated when found enough courage to speak. "Plus, when the men are rested, and the camp sufficiently packed, we can move a lot faster." He – nor any of his companions – did not try and talk Alexander out of his plans. They knew it would be futile, at best, knowing that when Hephaistion was involved, their friend and lord was determined to take action. If the army would not follow, Alexander would no doubt ride out alone.

With an unhappy nod, Alexander succumbed to this. He saw the wisdom of Ptolemy's statement.

The camp was a buzz of movement within moments, riders set out to deliver the changed plans, soldiers preparing for a swift march. It would still take them some days to reach the city of Rhadia, and all of them knew the distance would be crossed with a gruelling pace. All rest they could get now would be of use.

Alexander strode to his own tent as soon as he had delivered all the necessary orders. He ushered out all the servants and slaves, closing the flap as soon as he was alone. He stood there for a long moment, clutching the fabric in a rigid grip. Before he could tear the entire tent down, he let go, and went to his desk. Numb fingers caught the letter, send to him a little over a week ago. The piece of paper that had began all this… He lifted the parchment from the surface, eyeing it, the hand-written lined blurring in his eyes. Slowly, his hand drew into a fist, crumpling the letter still in it. Perhaps he could shove this false pretence of friendship down the Rhadian lord's throat, when he finally came face to face with the man… The thought gave him a small amount of satisfaction, but it did not dull the pain and worry over his beloved Hephaistion.

**

* * *

Few days later**

The door of the throne room banged open, an alarmed advisor rushing in. Mazaces lifted his gaze, an annoyed frown appearing on his features as he looked at the panting man before him. "What is it?" he asked, tone bored and full of dislike of this hasty entry.

"My lord, Alexander's army is here," the advisor stammered when he had gathered enough of his breath. "The _entire_ army, some say! Thousands and thousands of men, just outside our gates. The are surrounding the city, and building up –"

Mazaces leaned forward, motioning the man to stop his now frantic speech. Alexander was here. It was nothing he had not expected. The only thing that surprised him was that the king arrived so soon – and perhaps that he came with such force. _But a man like him does not take any offence lightly_, he mused. _And Alexander… he is a prideful man, I have heard. Such humiliation as what his little negotiation-party went through shall not go overlooked._ He was not afraid, however. He was safe here, within his walls. The dogs could bark and gnaw at the stones, but would not get in.

"They are building upcatapults and siege-towers, my liege," the advisor tried again, nervously fingering his long robe. "It is only a matter of time before they break into the city…"

"And this is the kind of attitude I am supposed to defy the _great_ Alexander with…" Mazaces muttered as he rose from his royal seat and made his way to the wide doors. His advisors followed close on his heels, knowing better than to open their mouths again. Mazaces had always been a man of swiftly shifting moods, and none wished to risk his ire at a moment like this.

Walking along a wide corridor, Mazaces reached an open balcony that looked over the city. The man actually took a rather abrupt, shocked halt when he arrived to the outside air, leaning heavily on the marble railing with both hands. He had known Alexander's army was great, but… The number of the men beyond his walls was enough to throw his city down, stone by stone, until nothing stood up from the sand. "Calm down," he murmured to himself, not bothering to keep his thought as his own. "They still have to get inside... Send all free men to the walls, and the main force to defend the palace!" he barked his orders. The advisors collided to each other in their hasty depart to carry out the orders.

"We'll see, Alexander," the lord of Rhadia mutter to himself, his fists clenched tight around the railing. "We'll see…"

* * *

The very sight of the city before them made him feel sick. Alexander took one, long look at the walls, the closed gate, and told Ptolemy to break the gate. Then he strode away, not caring if Ptolemy was the right man to carry out the task; the man could delegate someone else to the work, as long as it was done. Any other day, he would have overseen the task taken care of, personally. Today, he was too distracted to linger on the matter.

Alexander entered his tent. There was time for such matters, later. Now the only thing he could put his mind on was to get inside those walls, hack down everything on his way, and have Hephaistion safe in his arms again. Or just simply find Hephaistion... Seizing the city could wait.

Grinding his jaws in frustration, he tried to keep his hands from shaking. Emotions and thoughts were ready to overrun his mind, as soon as he did not do something that demanded his full attention. Guilt, anger, a wrath so hot and all-consuming he had never felt before… And fear. He could not remember a day when he had feared more. Not even the day when his father had died compared with this gnawing coldness. Perhaps closest to this was the moment at Gaugamela, when Hephaistion had been wounded… Though that moment had been but a fleeting caress of a knife in his heart.

Today, the fear refused to pass.

Hours went past. The shadows moved within the tent, following the course of the sun. Alexander tried to force his thoughts elsewhere, or stop thinking at all, but it was no use. Even a thought of a sweet revenge he was going to cast upon the leader of Rhadia – just out of pure annoyance, if nothing else – did not make that one emotion move aside; the fear ever remained. Pressing his teeth together to a verge of pain, leaning his head on his open palms, elbows scrubbing the hard surface of his desk, he swore to the name of all Gods he would tear this Mazaces apart, even if he found Hephaistion safe and unharmed. Putting him through this myriad of emotions was too much of a torture for him to bear… or for any sane being. Once again, he wished to feel a tender, firm hand on his shoulder, Hephaistion's voice telling him with that familiar, almost amused tone, that there was nothing to fear. To tell him stop worrying, and focus on the important matters. But his friend was not here.

"Zeus, Hephaistion…" Alexander groaned with a tortured tone, shaking his head from side to side, making his elbows hurt even more. "Next time… No! There shall be no 'next time', that I swear…"

"My king?" a hesitant voice asked from the entrance, a lone soldier slowly opening the flap. "Ptolemy sent you a word that the gate shall be breached at any moment…"

Alexander's head shot up, his eyes two fierce embers. The soldier took a step back in fright, even if he knew the look of immense fury was not directed at him. "Good," the king stated, and got up to his feet. He had grabbed his weapons and was out of his tent before the startled messenger had departed, forcing the man jump out of his way as he made his way to Bucephalus. It was a high time to act.

* * *

The gates gave in. The army of Alexander swarmed into the city before the local warriors could do much; local archers and swordsmen were lacking the training and systematic form Alexander's men did. People – those who already hadn't taken shelter in their houses – ran on the streets, screaming and shouting. The minute force of the defenders could do nothing to hold the invaders at bay. In less than an hour, the city was overtaken.

Of what he had learned from Rhadian prisoners, the lord himself – and most of his troops – were hiding in the palace. That thought made Alexander grimace on the inside. What kind of a man hid behind his men, lurking in some dark corner when others fought _his_ battle? _Well, it seems Mazaces fits that image only too well_, he decided while standing on the stoned yard before the palace entrance. His men were taking their places and regrouping behind him, preparing for the final battle and securing the city. He did not expect this minor fight last beyond the night, yet refused to let anything slip. Any battle he fought was battle against failure; here the chance of an easy victory was likely, but he would take it before celebrating.

"Shall we move into the building?" Ptolemy asked, halting beside him. 'To find Hephaistion', he might have added, but it was needless. They all knew what their first priority was here: dead men could not be saved. Those alive were the ones they fought for – beyond simple vengeance.

"Yes," Alexander said at last, and the order rang out.

The front-line of men rushed past their generals, meeting resistance only on the top of the stairs, where the Rhadians were trying to hold their posts in the middle of high pillars. The shelter became their prison when the second wave reached them. Men fell to the stones, slid down where they collapsed against the columns, blood staining the ground.

As Alexander and his companions made their way up the stairs, the king made a small effort to try and avoid the running rivulets of crimson liquid. He was not usually this mindful of getting blood on himself, but the disdain he felt towards the very existence of this city made him act in ways he normally did not. Least of all he now wanted to be stained in dirty blood…

Ptolemy's eyes met his across the distance between them, and a silent nod passed. The general waved a group of men to follow him, and took an alternative road inside the building. They all knew that splitting forces would both enable them to bring down the last pieces of defence more swiftly, and aid them in finding Hephaistion as soon as possible. Somehow they all thought that their fellow general was in this building. If not, they would turn every rock upside down in the whole city – it did not greatly matter if they left only ruins behind. Cassander had briefly whined about this grand search for their missing companion, but he had shut up as soon as he realised Alexander would be extremely difficult to negotiate with, if anything happened to Hephaistion.

Ptolemy disappeared to another corridor, clashing sound of weapons colliding together and faint screams echoing on the stones following his departure. Alexander made his way to the main doors, fingering the hilt of his blade, eager to pull it free and sink it to the flesh that had more than just offended his pride. Determined to find the pitiful leader of this city as soon as possible and wipe off the dust of Rhadia from his hands, he headed forward, joining his men in their battle now and then, just to keep his tension at bay.

* * *

Every city, every fortress, had their own dark holes where no proper person should ever step into. Ptolemy, on the other hand, had spent almost too much time in such death-holes, watching a prisoner beaten until the required information had been spilled from broken lips. Yet today, all he hoped for was that he would not witness a familiar body here, not a beaten corpse in an enemy cell. Ptolemy was not a man who feared death, but carrying news of Hephaistion's demise to Alexander would be… suicidal. Perhaps Crateros, who had joined him on the journey to the lower levels of the city, might take that task off from his hands, if things came to that.

_Perhaps he isn't even here. There is no way of knowing Mazaces took him below, like a common prisoner. He might be anywhere in this city – or even beyond it._ The latter thought did not sheer him up, but it gave him hope. He too was close with the blue-eyed man, and the loss of him would be a blow to the Macedonian host. Hephaistion had not reached his position merely by being favoured by his friend and lover, who also happened to be his king; he had skill. And that skill was not only to control Alexander on his worst days, to be a bridge builder when argument broke between the son of Philip and his elder generals – even if that was the quality Ptolemy envied most. The man had wits, more than most of the men he commanded, which made him both a strong ally and a dangerous enemy. He knew that most of the Companions held him as a threat, and would gladly see him die on this trip, but they did not seem to sense all the repercussions this possible misfortune would cause.

His thoughts were interrupted as another wave of Rhadian soldiers attacked them around the corner, and he had to keep his focus on his opponents. The local men fought well, Ptolemy could give them that, but they lacked the heart behind their actions. Alexander's men, however… They seemed to take their king's anger personally, and fought like they had been insulted. Or hurt. Yet many of their fellow soldiers had died here, inside these same walls, and it was not surprising they yearned for revenge.

Men were cut down, screams alerting other soldiers on the lower levels. Ptolemy made his fighters move forward, Crateros on the other side of their group, guiding them to a more open space, knowing they would need room to manoeuvre. Rhadians came rushing towards them, slipping on their kinsmen's blood when they came in touch with Macedonian warriors.

It seemed that the fighting morale of the defenders had a lot to work on. The clash was over soon, the losses on the Macedonian side minor ones. Motioning his group forward, Ptolemy made his way down the corridor, and to other set of wide stairs. They met no resistance on their way down, and halted when they came to junction of several passageways. Cell doors lined the dark walls, shackles hanging unoccupied in random places. In the distance, they could hear the battle raging above.

Crateros nodded to his fellow leader, making his way forward with his soldiers behind him. They encountered Rhadian warriors after a while, the men oblivious of their presence, probably thinking their already dead companions could handle the intruders. They were disarmed without much of a fight, when they came to realise their err.

Ptolemy stepped forth, glaring at a man who seemed to be the leader among his group. "Where are the prisoners?" he asked slowly. They could waste rest of the day getting lost in the dungeons, and not find a trace of Hephaistion even if he was here. Better to ask directions, rather than run blindly in circles.

The man blinked in confusion, clearly not understanding.

"Barbarian…" Ptolemy muttered beneath his breath. He took a firm hold of the man's shoulder, then pointed at the cell door behind his back. "Prisoner. Where?" he demanded again, hoping the Rhadian would understand. He had no time to search for an interpreter. Again a confused look, this time with a frightened hint in the wide eyes.

Crateros went to the wall, and shook the shackles hanging there. "Where?" he asked, pointing at the corridor on their right, then shook the metal restraints again, and pointed to another direction.

This time, the Rhadians seemed to understand. A small argument seemed to break between them, until the leader finished it with a look that silenced his companions. They all most likely understood they would be in trouble if they did not give information to the Macedonians. Ptolemy could only wonder if they knew their lives hang depending on the fact of what they found.

The leader pointed on the corridor on their right. Crateros nodded, then took the man to his own grip, signalling he could show the way. Ptolemy followed, not bothering to keep an eye on the other prisoners that were dragged along. His men were more than capable of taking care of them on their own. The smell of blood, sweat, dirt and death floated in the air, and he could swear he saw a rat disappear in the darkness. He did not spend time watching inside the cells: he had no desire to see a rotting body devoured to hungry mouths, or an old skeleton spread to the floor.

They halted at a door, and the leader fumbled with the bar holding the entry closed. Crateros pushed him aside, then opened the door swiftly. Ptolemy heard the man gasp, then stepped forth to see for himself. Perhaps these men were not as barbaric as he had thought: they had understood what they wanted. _Or there are no other prisoners someone might miss_, Ptolemy pondered, then dismissed further distraction and rushed to the dark room. It was futile to ignore the smell. Even more fruitless would have been an effort to try and believe Alexander was not going to avenge this with death. Several deaths.

"Hephaistion," Ptolemy called out, his hands reaching out to touch the dirty, broken form of his friend. Hephaistion's entire backside was a bloody mess, and it was no hard to guess what other torture he had been put through. The feel of his skin was both icy cold where sweat was shining on his skin and feverish at other places. "'Phaistion," he tried again, with more force. There was no reaction, as expected, and Ptolemy allowed himself to let out a small sigh when he found a firm pulse on the other's neck.

Crateros was by now crouching next to him, worried frown on his face. "He shall live," Ptolemy assured his companion, then glanced at the door. Macedonian warriors did not meet his eyes, too intent to stare at their other general, wounded and still on the floor. One of the men finally looked at Ptolemy, and after receiving a nod, he turned to the prisoners. Each Rhadian was killed in silence, quickly, effectively. They perhaps deserved worse, but then again, if they did not, this death was easier than the one Alexander would have cast upon them.

As Ptolemy watched the bodies being arranged to the side of the corridor, Crateros took off his cloak and wrapped it around Hephaistion's unconscious, naked form. The tall man lifted the limb body easily to his arms, leaving the cell immediately. None of them wished to linger in this death-hole longer than necessary, and Hephaistion needed to be attended by doctors, as soon as possible.

Making their way up from the dungeons, Ptolemy tried to decide what to say when they finally reached Alexander. When he came up with nothing that would cause his friend lesser pain – or anger – he let the matter be, and decided to let the events run themselves as the moment arrived.

* * *

Most of the Rhadian resistance was met around the throne room. This did little to unnerve Alexander, however; he knew he had enough men to overtake the entire city. A little opposition would only be a hindrance on his way. Yet as soon as the wide doors leading to the hall swung open, every wasted moment turned into one of agony. On the throne, on the opposite wall from the doors, sat a man in rich robes and trying to maintain a look of authority and control. Alexander did not need names presented to know whom he was. "Mazaces…" he muttered, this time drawing his sword.

Archers prepared to shoot, also having noticed the leader of the city, but Alexander held them back. He did not plan to keep the man alive for long, but the pleasure of killing him would be his alone. The man had given him enough trouble to suffer long and with passion…

Blades clashed together, voices crying out when steel cut into skin. Blood stained the walls and rich tapestries. Floor swam with thick liquid, bodies collapsed there in ungraceful heaps. The final battle, all in all, did not last five minutes before the leaders of Mazaces' army shouted out their surrender. Arms fell to the ground, hands lifted as a sign of defeat.

Alexander crossed the hall swiftly, his blade pressing at Mazaces' chest when the man rose from his seat. Furious eyes met the Macedonian's, probably only now noticing he was personally threatened. It took another moment from the Rhadian lord to figure exactly whom he was facing.

"Why, king Alexander has finally arrived," he stated, attempting a bow, but halted when the tip of Alexander's blade pressed more firmly against him, cutting into his robes. "Perhaps you would remove your blade?" he asked, not a single thread of respect in his voice. Fear was there, an underlying tone, yet not too overpowering. Maybe he believed he still was a master of the situation.

Either way, Alexander was in no mood for games. "I would watch myself carefully, if I were you. You have led me and my companions to misbelieve that there would be no trouble from your side when I approached. Instead, I find only hostility."

"I am not you, Alexander," Mazaces stated. "And as I told to your… ambassador, I merely stated I would give you no trouble. I never said I would surrender my city and riches to you, if you came to claim them. Rhadia is not as weak as the other feeble villages you have come across."

"Nay, your city goes well below all those," Cassander stated from his place behind Alexander. His eyes moved between the two, almost eager to see blood spilled. "Come, Alexander, finish this dog, so we can be on our way –" He did not finish when a group of warriors emerged to the hall through a side-door. They looked battle-worn and slightly pale, yet neither the general nor his lord paid a heed to them. All eyes settled on the unmoving man on Crateros' arms.

Alexander suppressed a shout with a visible effort, pulling away from Mazaces and meeting Ptolemy on the halfway. His eyes never left Hephaistion when Ptolemy grabbed his arm and leaned closer to whisper: "He lives, Alexander." He shook himself free, and Ptolemy let him.

His hands shook as he brushed a tendril of sweaty, dirty hair away from the face of his friend. He wished to say so many things, wield his sword and hack down all who had dared to hurt Hephaistion: for hurt the other man was, that he could see himself, even if the other's form was wrapped tightly in a protective cloak. "Take him out of here, he needs to see a healer. Now." Alexander's voice was far from steady, yet none spoke against him. As Crateros, accompanied with Ptolemy, disappeared from the main doors, Alexander turned to his remaining men and generals. "Arrest every soldier within the city, and take them outside the walls. Collect the people, also, and do the same, yet keep them separated from the army. Those who refuse, kill them. Do not bother with the bodies." The orders were firmly given, unhesitating. Turning to Mazaces, Alexander pointed at his fellow lord: "Take him with his soldiers, and keep an eye on them. Anyone who tries to escape shall be executed immediately."

A moment of silence followed and then commanders set to work, sending a word to the city outside. All people would be collected and taken outside the walls before nightfall. Content his orders would be followed without further instructions, Alexander left the palace, willing to rid himself of the very sight of it as soon as possible.

Hephaistion was safe, the city his. Yet why he did not feel any more peaceful than before?

_to be continued…_


	6. Chapter 5: Trial and Mercy

**Author's Notes:** I am sorry for everyone's long wait! I hope the "quality" of this final chapter shall mend that annoyance a little :) Huge, grateful thanks to Kitt of Lindon for betaing this on such a short notice! (Thank her, everyone, for getting this done and posted.) I hope you all enjoy this, as much as I have enjoyed making the whole story.

As a theme for the final chapter, we have _A Perfect Circle_'s "The Noose" (from the album "Thirteenth Step". (Hear the song on the band's website!)

**

* * *

Chapter 5: Trial and Mercy

* * *

**

"These are my terms… And if Darius isn't a coward, who hides behind his men, then he'll come to me tomorrow. And when he bows down to Greece, Alexander will be merciful…"

_- Alexander the Great before the battle of Gaugamela, from the film "Alexander" by Oliver Stone -

* * *

_

It had been almost two days since Rhadia fell under Alexander's control. The time had been grating to all: the local people waiting for Alexander's judgement, the king's own soldiers growing more anxious with each passing hour, Alexander's companions trying to find a way to bring their lord's mind to the matter at hand… And Alexander himself, waiting for the doctors to tell him Hephaistion was going to survive.

The atmosphere outside the city was tense, every movement drawing suspicious, nervous eyes to itself. Therefore, no one wanted to move, and an unnatural stillness hung in the air, like ominous clouds before a storm broke loose.

Alexander stood just within the tent that he had grown accustomed during the past days. By now, he knew every detail within the shelter. He had been standing here longer than was healthy, but he could not make himself leave. Not when Hephaistion lay on the bed, unmoving, pale and so broken… He had to avert his eyes again, tears threatening to break through his guarding mask. He felt alone and tired without Hephaistion at his side. Perhaps he had never noticed this before, or paid attention enough to understand it, but of all his advisors and friends, only Hephaistion soothed him from within. Not even Bagoas managed to do that with his sweet, caring actions.

He missed Hephaistion; his laugh, the mischief in his eyes when Alexander did or said something beside himself, the mere feel of completeness when they were together, and the silent support of the other man when he disagreed with the rest of the world. Alexander sorely wished Hephaistion to wake, just so he could tell this to his friend, hear the other laugh and call him a fool.

Yes, he wished Hephaistion to laugh. To smile. Because his fear was the other man would never do so again.

The day when Hephaistion was carried back to the camp in Crateros' arms, the doctors had operated on him all night. Alexander had been there, assisting in all way he could. Mostly he had just stood there, watching in growing agony how his lover's body was tended.

None of the doctors had to tell him what Hephaistion had been through. The fear that had lived within him all the while since he had first laid his eyes upon the wounded man was proven right when Crateros' protective cloak was removed. Yet he dismissed his own rage, telling himself they were not his wounds that bled again. It was not his body that had been abused in hands of others. _So wrong, all this... How could this happen? _How_ could the Gods allow this to pass? And his pain… It _is_ my pain, too_, Alexander decided. _Every time I have suffered, in the past, so has Hephaistion. Regardless of his own needs, he has always been there for me – as a boy, as a man. And I…_ He looked at the bed again, ignoring the healers, his eyes only seeing Hephaistion. _Have I ever been there for him, when he needed me most?_

Some answers would never be found, Alexander knew. If he ever asked Hephaistion about the matter, he would gain no response but silence.

* * *

It took another day before a change overtook the camp of Alexander's army. By then, the tenseness was almost palpable, on the side of both prisoners and invaders. Only a few knew the true reason behind this lack of action – and those who did not started a myriad of gossips. Yet, most of the Macedonians knew this was bound to Hephaistion. Those closest to the king knew this to be exactly the truth. Yet none dared to face Alexander and tell him to make a move: this would happen when and as the young king was ready himself, not a second before.

The day when Hephaistion finally woke up was something everyone was waiting for – each in dread, without an exception. Alexander had been dead to the world since Hephaistion has been found, his focus solely upon his hurt general. When that trance-like state would pass, fate of many would be decided.

It was late afternoon when Hephaistion stirred, immediately alarming the doctor hovering near to him. He blinked in the canvas-dimmed light, frowning when pain hit him anew with the movement of lifting his face from the soft pillow.

"Lie still, my lord," the doctor said, then looked past him. "My king, he is awake…" The words were hesitant, as if he was reluctant to disturb someone, yet knowing it was necessary to do so.

Someone moved within the tent, then gentle fingers touched his temple just briefly. The touch was cool and comforting, and Hephaistion knew who stood beside him. "Leave us," Alexander spoke, and with a court bow, the doctor left the tent. The man probably knew that gainsaying the will of his king's right then would only mean defeat.

The smell of the other was soothing in its familiarity, and Hephaistion closed his eyes, content. The pain seemed to ebb away slightly, or then he was simply getting used to it. Either way, he was pleased with the situation.

"Hephaistion?" came Alexander's hesitant call, the fingers moving to brush his eyelids, as if afraid he had fallen asleep again. He opened his eyes, carefully shifting his body to see his worried lover.

_Lover… How long it is since I called him that – or he, me? Too long, at any rate. Yet perhaps it is better so, for men like him are not meant to be bound, as he would have been with me…_ Hephaistion frowned slightly, trying to force his thoughts back in some kind of order. He had had plenty of time to think of his life, hanging between darkness and consciousness in Mazaces' prison: this was the time when he was supposed to be sharp.

Alexander mistook his silence and frown as a sign of pain, immediately starting to fuss around. When he reached to adjust his pillow, Hephaistion grabbed the hand into a determined grip, slowly forcing Alexander to sit on the side of the bed. Carefully, biting back a hiss, he turned to his back, squeezing Alexander's hand in warning when the man attempted to stop him. After several calming breaths, Hephaistion met his king's steady, yet anxious gaze.

Hephaistion soon realised he wasn't in such pain as he has first thought. The doctors had done their job well. He merely was stiff in all places, either from having lain in the same position for too long, or from the healing wounds that hindered proper movement. He steadily refused going into further details in his mind: had he done so, he would break down before Alexander. It was enough to bear that Alexander most likely knew what he had been through – as did plenty of other people. He wouldn't humiliate himself further over this matter.

What had passed was in the past. It was not worth worrying, now that all would return back to normal…

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Alexander asked, trying to keep his voice steady in vain; Hephaistion could catch every ounce of difference in it, even in his current state.

"I am fine, Alexander. Better than one might think. Soon, I'll be up." He gave the other man a smile, trying to reassure them both.

Alexander merely nodded, shifting his hands so he was able to hold Hephaistion's. "I am glad you are safe."

Hephaistion did his best not to break his teeth in irritation – or in the battle to avoid showing the emotions that swam just beneath the surface. Why did Alexander have to say such things, when both knew them for they were all too obvious? _Yet he always loved Homer…_ "I know," he answered. "So am I." His attempts to bring out a carefree smile failed miserably. Alexander held his hand tighter – and those hands shook. The light now blazing in the king's eyes was greatly unnerving… "Alexander, what has happened?" he asked, afraid to hear the answer. "What of Rhadia?"

"The city still stands, half a mile from us," Alexander spat bitterly, swearing vengeance in his heart. "It has been five days since a word arrived to us… A word that…" Confident words turned into stammered half-sentences, Alexander's eyes wandering everywhere but in the man in front of him.

Hephaistion drew a deep breath, knowing that this moment had been coming all along. He was simply happy that it happened in private, not before all the leaders of the army. "I failed the mission entrusted to me, and for that, I apologise. I thought I could handle the situation, yet…" he bit his lower lip, recalling each of those torturing moments when the realisation hit him; knowledge that he would not survive alive from his mission. Yet here he lay, broken and defeated, and very alive. "You lost hundreds of men because of my mistake. Next time, I trust you to send me out with someone who can foresee such situations beforehand – or not to send me at all."

Alexander blinked, as if dazed. "What makes you think I blame you of any of this?" he asked, but Hephaistion didn't seem to register the words.

"I tried to make you proud, I swear, Alexander! To stand before your enemies, as your men did; they died fighting. But I…" Hephaistion swallowed, tears shimmering in his eyes, yet his control was yet too tight to let them slip. "I failed, Alexander. I broke. I _let_ them break me. I didn't fight, not as I should have. I did not reach the glory of death, though after my failure, I doubt I would have earned such a honour."

"They didn't –" Alexander began, but the look on Hephaistion's face stopped him.

"I _broke_, Alexander. I fought, for hours, in vain. In the end, I couldn't stop it from happening," Hephaistion kept talking, his free hand gripping the covers in a painful grip. "I called out your name. I gave in to them, and let them bring it out of me. I never should have done it, to blemish your name so…. Forgiving me is beyond you, I know," he turned shining, self-loathing eyes at Alexander, "and any punishment you see just, I shall accept."

Alexander sat, for a blink of an eye, very still. Then he grabbed Hephaistion's shoulders, mindless of the pain it might cause to the other man. "Never will I hear those words repeated from you. Never, Hephaistion!" The loudness of his voice made them both cringe, and he turned into a more hushed tone. "You shall always be free to call my name, for ever it hasn't been sweeter in my ears than coming from your lips. And those who did this to you… They shall soon understand what that name means!" he vowed. "All that has passed was caused by a deceive of one man. Neither of us saw this coming. No crime I hold against you, my Hephaistion. Only the crime done against you and our dead kinsmen I shall seek vengeance for, and with pleasure I do so."

Hephaistion opened his mouth to speak, but Alexander shook his head. "No more foolish words: you have told me often enough to stay away from them. What you said is a lie, none of it true. I will make you see it."

"Alexander, you _know_ I failed you, the mission given to me –" Hephaistion never finished the sentence as Alexander's lips silenced him. It was a kiss born of desperation, lacking any hint of gentleness. Yet Hephaistion welcomed it, his left hand seeking Alexander's strong neck, holding the other man. So different from a boy he had used to clutch against him.

Alexander drew away, after a while, yet refusing to retreat more than an inch. Their breaths ghosted together, their eyes locked, and Hephaistion spoke no more. Smiling, Alexander licked his lips, and brought them to his friend's again, gently this time.

Minutes later, they parted for air, and Alexander lay down beside Hephaistion, softly caressing his hair and face. It did not take long before the blue eyes slid shut, and the other's breath slowed down to an even rhythm. The king of Macedonia, Greece, and Asia lay on his place, continuing the idle movement of his hands, never taking his eyes off the vision before him.

The world outside could wait.

**

* * *

Next morning**

Alexander rose early. In all honesty, he had not slept at all, but he felt no fatigue. Keeping watch over Hephaistion was enough rest for him. The general had awoken hours later, and they had sat together for a time. Neither had bothered to talk, Hephaistion too exhausted, and Alexander too content to break the comforting silence. When had they needed words, anyway? After Hephaistion had fallen to sleep again, he had used the time well on his advance. His mind, after days of struggling, seemed able to make plans once more.

"Parmenion," he greeted as the general suddenly came into his view from between the tents.

The elder man halted, nodding his head in respect. "How do you fare this morning, Alexander?" Parmenion asked in turn.

"Better than in days," Alexander answered truthfully. "I want the camp packed and men ready to march during this day."

"What about the prisoners?" Parmenion asked, visibly confused.

"Leave enough tents to create a circle, and bring the soldiers within," Alexander answered cryptically, then walked away without further orders. It was time to make things happen… and move on.

After a walk across the camp, Alexander returned to Hephaistion's side. He had food brought for them, and when Hephaistion woke up, they ate together. The general was not happy to be denied the solid food, but Alexander gave him no other chance, and so Hephaistion was forced to swallow his soup without further complaints.

"Don't you have things to attend?" Hephaistion asked as they again lied down, Alexander's hands smoothing his hair in a dreamy pattern.

"There's plenty of time for those, later," Alexander responded, not caring to discuss about the matter.

"You never thought this way before." Hephaistion did not smile when he said this, nor did his voice carry a hint of amusement. There was simply wonder and worry.

"Do not bother yourself. I have taken care of my duties in your absence."

They fell silent, and within a few minutes, Alexander found himself to be the only wakeful person in the tent. Hephaistion was still exhausted and healing – and no doubt in a great amount of pain, even if he refused to show it – and so he slept most of the day. Alexander did not complain, yet today, he couldn't stay and watch his friend sleep, as he had taken a habit of doing lately.

Today, he had work to do, before the army would move out again.

Voices came from outside the tent, informing Alexander of the progress of his orders. He leaned down to kiss Hephaistion's temple, then stood up and left the tent, closing the flap carefully behind him. He turned to meet the mass of people gathered in the wide circle of tents still standing, wary and hating eyes directed at him as soon as he was spotted. The Rhadian captives knew their time had come.

Further outside the circle, Alexander could see the rest of the city's population waiting. In those eyes, he would see fear and terror, and hear the pleas for mercy. But the soldiers that stood before him refused to beg like worms. Not that Alexander cared: they all would feel the impact of his fury before he was done with them.

"What is your will concerning the prisoners, Alexander?"

Alexander almost smiled. It was expected that Ptolemy was the one to approach him first. He turned to his general, face completely serious, almost blank of all emotions. This was it. The moment of truth. Time for his revenge. "Keep them in check. I shall deliver my orders soon. Bring Mazaces forth." Ptolemy nodded and set out to do as he was bid. This was not a moment to question Alexander further, and any answers someone might have wanted would be given soon enough.

As two soldiers dragged Mazaces to the front of his own men, Alexander drew a deep breath, preparing himself. Sooner he was done with this, the better… "Mazaces of Rhadia, I believe you know why you are here." His voice was even, devoid of all warmth. A interpreter was standing nearby, in the case he would be needed, yet it seemed the Rhadian lord understood a great deal of Greek, even if he did not show it.

Mazaces stood proudly, attempting to shake off the restraining hands, then settled down again when this did not happen. "You have taken over my city, for no reason, killed my men and destroyed the life of my people." This all perhaps wasn't true, completely, but the point was made.

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "You deceived me to believe you would surrender to me without a fight, as an ally. Instead, you insulted my ambassador, killed my men, and abused a man I have called _friend_ all my life." He wished to say more – and do more – but he knew it was not the time, yet.

Mazaces seemed unaffected by this, though a ghost of a sneer played on his face. "As I have already told you and your ambassador, I never offered to surrender, but to leave you alone when you passed by my lands. Come to claim my city, and I shall treat you as any enemy."

"This is how you meet all the foreign delegations?" Cassander couldn't help himself, the temptation to say something too great. Alexander did not dismiss him, and the question hung in the air dangerously. Finally the interpreter spoke it anew, in Mazaces' own language.

The lord waved the interpreter off with annoyance. "When the delegation is prepared to overtake what is mine, yes," Mazaces responded finally. "And you got what you deserve, Alexander. Too long you have raided cities, without proper defence against you."

This time, most of Alexander's generals laughed, and even Alexander himself smiled – yet it was one of a predator, not amusement. "You call your struggle a 'proper defence'?" Alexander requested. "I think you see yourself too highly. Perhaps it is time to drop you back to the level you belong in…" He shifted his stance, eyes blazing. Alexander's own men knew what was to come, and adjusted their armoury. "You killed my men, insulted me… But more than that, you hurt a man that I care deeply for. That is an insult that will not go unpunished, and you shall suffer for it – so no other has to endure your antics again."

Mazaces seemed to think of this, then his eyes gleamed in some inner satisfaction. "So your 'ambassador' is truly valuable to you… Yet even I can see that it is not his skills negotiating he is famous for. I wonder what he can do, to make his king defend him and his… tarnished honour in such a manner as this..." Shouts erupted in the Rhadian army, laughter and loud statements filling the air.

A dangerous look passed Alexander's face. "You have no idea of what you are saying. Hephaistion is a man of speech, not war. But most of all…" he halted for a moment, "you shall soon understand that in abusing him, you wounded me. For he, too, is Alexander."

The entire army of Alexander hushed down. This statement was a legend that had lived ever since Alexander took over Babylon, but most of them heard it for the first time – and from Alexander's lips.

Rhadians did not seem to understand the depth of this statement, Mazaces among them. "Weak are the men like you, unable to stand on their own, but rather leaning on his men," Mazaces stated. "Alone, you are nothing."

Just when Alexander was about to reply, a soldier rushed to his side. "My king, the people are fighting the soldiers!" he said hastily, pointing at the direction where the rest of the people of Rhadia were kept – aside from the soldiers. Most of Alexander's own army was gathered around the enemy warriors, and now the others had their hands full with common population.

Alexander's temper flared in a moment. Too many insults and loss of men he had tolerated in silence. "Lock them into the city, and burn it all down," he bellowed, eyes blazing. He gestured angrily with his hand, and a few soldiers stumbled to obey.

"Alexander!"

All eyes turned to stare at the direction of the shout, immediate silence following. The soldiers halted, unsure what to do. The king himself turned, finding Hephaistion standing behind him, wrapped in a thin cloak, his face pale but determined. "You shouldn't be up –" Alexander began, stepping towards his friend.

"What is going on in here?" Hephaistion demanded, his tone cold and full of authority. It was visible he knew _exactly_ what was happening, yet he wished to hear it himself – from Alexander.

Alexander froze, his face unreadable. "Go back inside."

"No." The answer was firm. "I will not lay idle when you murder innocent people. For they _are_ innocent, Alexander! They have never made a move against me," Hephaistion pointed at the people outside the circle, where women's cries and children's shouts could be heard beneath the roars of men. "They have never heard my name, only a few of them seeing me ride past when I entered their city. You can kill all you want," his voice turned into a hiss, "but not in _my_ name. I shall not bear their death upon my shoulders for the rest of my life."

Alexander stood silent, his eyes locked with Hephaistion's. Messages passed between them, and finally the king nodded carefully. Hephaistion studied his king's face for a moment longer, his eyes shining. "So be it," Alexander finally stated, and they both turned to the two armies gathered. Macedonian and Greek soldiers nodded at Hephaistion in greeting, glad to see their general on his feet. The Asians bowed, showing their respect as well.

At that moment, among the Rhadian ranks, a storm broke. "King's whore!" was the first shout, announced with broken Greek. Hephaistion's eyes shifted in alarm, but other than that, he did not react. More voices rose in insults, and there was no way to locate their origin.

"Go back to king's tent, whore, so he shall enjoy you after blood's been shed!"

Alexander's fists clenched, his breath hitching dangerously. His eyes searched for any who opened his mouth to shout, just so he could silence the one himself. Behind him, Hephaistion still stood, unmoving. Alexander did not dare to turn and see the look on the other's face.

"Such a good lay, all ready to spread his legs. I've seen it," a man announced. Alexander saw him, standing few rows from him. He also sensed something, turning to look at Hephaistion for the first time since the shouts had begun. Hephaistion was even paler than before, clutching at the garment around him. His eyes were haunted, and Alexander realised the man spoke true: he had seen Hephaistion. And his beautiful, sweet Hephaistion…

With a yell full of rage, Alexander sprang forward. His sword was embedded to the still leering man's chest before he knew it, blood soaking his clothes. "Kill them! Kill every each of them!" he screamed, and his soldiers were happy to comply. Stepping aside from the battle, Alexander watched the Rhadian soldiers fall, one after another. He didn't care if they were innocent. He wanted them dead, to pay Hephaistion's pain with blood and corpses, to avenge the hours of torture.

Hephaistion stood still, staring at the massacre taking place before him. He couldn't force himself to move, to look away, to stop this all from happening. His mind repeated those shouts again and again, now mingled with cries of pain. The horrifying images filled his head, bringing back the hours in the dungeons, the whip digging to his skin, the hands touching him…

It all ended swiftly, Alexander's army outnumbering the prisoners, their fury unsatisfied until now. Mazaces was dragged forth, bleeding and bruised, yet still alive. "My lord," one of the soldiers addressed Alexander. "We thought you might want to end this dog's life yourself."

"That sounds like an insult towards the dog," Cleitus muttered from his place, wiping his bloodied blade on a dead man's clothes.

"Bring me his sword," Alexander commanded, his eyes never leaving the man kneeling on the ground. Mazaces' eyes did not meet his, the man too intent in catching his breath and nursing his wounds.

"It is broken, my liege," another soldier announced, handing over a sword with a shattered blade.

"Doesn't matter," Alexander muttered, and stepped towards Mazaces. "I wonder if you still think it as a great idea to attack my delegation, and throw my representative to the mercy of your dogs… Perhaps you shall think of your mistakes, when I cut you in pieces, and leave you alive enough for the vultures to devour."

"Alexander, please…" Hephaistion's shocked, broken voice halted the blade that was already lifted to the air. The general stepped forth. "He does not deserve a death like this! True, he doomed your men to die, and threw me to the mercy of his men, but he never personally hurt me. He never laid a hand on me," he emphasised the last sentence carefully, the blue eyes capturing brown.

Alexander lowered the blade in dismay. "After all he has done, you show him mercy?" he exclaimed.

Hephaistion's eyes moved at the man on the ground, who did not seem to appreciate his help one bit. Then he nodded, moving his gaze back to Alexander. "I have learned from the best, you among them; _you_ taught me a lot about mercy, Alexander. Will you avenge the crimes of others upon one, who was not a man enough to do this himself?"

Men muttered around them, yet none spoke up loud enough to interfere. Alexander clutched the sword in his hand, his eyes travelling between Hephaistion and Mazaces. "You do not wish him to die?" he finally asked, keeping his tone in check.

"I do not object his death, but the manner of it," Hephaistion responded.

"Then kill him already!" Cassander growled. "Let us rid ourselves of this pitiful excuse of an animal."

Alexander narrowed his eyes, then moved his hand forth, presenting Hephaistion the sword in it. "Let the mercy happen: gift him with a death worthy of his actions."

Hesitantly, Hephaistion took the blade. Alexander stepped aside, so his friend would have room to manoeuvre. Hephaistion took a step forth, his eyes solely upon Mazaces. His hands shook. The blade shifted towards the other's chest, an inch, then halted. Time passed, and still the weapon did not move. Then, finally, Hephaistion stirred. He took a step back, closing his eyes, lowering the blade. "I cannot," he whispered.

Alexander frowned, but somehow, he understood: Hephaistion could kill, any day, for him, for his king and beloved. But never he would kill for himself. Gently, he pulled Hephaistion back. Opening the clasp of his cape, he shed the cloth from his shoulders, and wrapped it around Hephaistion's shivering form. Then he took the sword from the trembling fingers, stepped forth, and sank the blade to Mazaces' chest. It was a swift death, probably less than the man deserved, but he did not wish to prolong Hephaistion's suffering.

Letting go of the handle, Alexander watched the dying man collapse to the blood-stained ground. Then he turned to his generals, one hand finding its way to Hephaistion's back. "Take all the supplies that we can use, and burn down the city. Leave the bodies as they are. Take down the rest of the camp, and prepare the men. We shall march today." He cast a look at the city beside them, loathing in his eyes. Swifter they were one their way, the better.

"What about the people? Children, women, workers…?" Parmenion asked.

"They shall join us," Alexander answered shortly, then turned his attention to Hephaistion, and guided the man back inside the tent. Hephaistion did not utter a word, and neither did the generals as they departed to carry out the orders.

* * *

The city of Rhadia burned bright, smoke rising to the sky as a thick layer. The smell of death hung in the air, bodies strewn across the ground near the walls. The tents were long gone, the army on the move again.

Ptolemy sniffed, shaking his head. _What a waste…_ This could have been a good place to leave a city under Alexander's rule. Yet now it was burning to the ground, no longer use to any. He did not pretend he didn't feel a small twinge of satisfaction, however. _I just wonder if this is a story worth telling forth…_ He shook his head again and turned his horse to follow the others. Behind him, a tower collapsed to the ground, devoured by the flames.

**The End

* * *

**

**Author's Notes:** Here we are again, in the end. I hope everyone enjoyed the story, and if not, I would also like to hear the comments from those who disliked the whole mess! Not that I really think anyone who did not like this is with me here, still… Anyway, one can live of positive comments, but shall never get better from them: and I want to get better!

Thank you for the various good reviews – certainly I hope to get more of them, still, even if the story is over and done with. Hope to see you again, in other stories!

#bow and smile#

-Del

* * *

A Perfect Circle: The Noose

_So glad to see you well  
Overcome and completely silent now  
With heaven's help  
You cast your demons out  
And not to pull your halo down  
Around your neck and tug you off your cloud  
But I'm more than just a little curious  
How you're planning to go about  
Making your amends to the dead  
To the dead _

_Recall the deeds as if  
They're all someone else's  
Atrocious stories  
Now you stand reborn before us all  
So glad to see you well _

_And not to pull your halo down  
Around your neck and tug you to the ground  
But I'm more than just a little curious  
How you're planning to go about  
Making your amends to the dead  
To the dead _

_With your halo slipping down  
Your halo slipping  
Your halo slipping down  
Your halo slipping down  
Your halo slipping down_

_Your halo slipping down to choke you now_


End file.
